


Driver Picks The Music

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life, bad early 2000s music, dangerously close to songfic probably holy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6616504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they're on a road trip across the country to make it to seokjin's wedding, and namjoon thinks yoongi's choice of soundtrack is... compelling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driver Picks The Music

**Author's Note:**

> have some of my sugamon feels

Namjoon wasn't sure what woke him up. Maybe it was the slight chill breezing across his legs from Yoongi's open window, maybe it was the moon shining down through back window of the small truck, but most likely he figured it was Yoongi, sitting in the driver's seat with one hand on the wheel and the other in his dark hair, his eyes on the road as he sang to himself.

They'd started off the trip hard of course. Heavy hip-hop and nineties rap, then into alternative and rock and as the day wore down so did the music. By now it was nearly eleven, and the truck was rumbling in protest at the long day of driving, and Yoongi was probably tired, but he was just there, staring out over the road, singing music from the early two thousands, when emo music was _the_ thing to be listening to and everybody's favorite group had been Fall Out Boy but Yoongi had been quietly listening to AFI, Taking Back Sunday and Motion City Soundtrack in their high school classroom, singing along to _Everything is All Right_ like he was now, absent and under his breath. His head bobbed with the hits on the rim of the snare and Namjoon couldn't help but remember how Yoongi had been back then: dark-eyed, dark haired and sleepless like he was now but thinner somehow, like a hard breeze would blow him away. He'd never worn color back then, not because it was fashionable but because basic black clothes without logos or patterns were cheap and that was his style. Cheap.

The first time Namjoon met him, Yoongi had two piercings in his lip and a black eye, a rakish grin and bruises on his hands from where his uncle rapped him with the handle of a wooden spoon like he was some kind of schoolboy who wasn't capable of behaving. Namjoon had been horrified, but Yoongi just brushed it off the same way he brushed off a lot of things: his failure to graduate, to get into college, his thankless factory job and the fact that he had no friends except Namjoon, because while everyone else had moved away, been successful, Namjoon had stayed to work in the garage just like he'd always planned to, despite his family's wishes he do otherwise.

Yoongi liked to say they failed together, but Namjoon didn't see any part of their lives as a failure. Their success was just different from their friends, that's all.

They were headed to see one of those successful friends now. Seokjin was getting married to a boy he met in college, with a fairy-slide nose and a smile that rivaled Hoseok's, if Namjoon did say so himself. Yoongi had wanted to refuse the invitation—it was too far, the drive was too long, he really couldn't afford the time off, but Namjoon, over the course of a few weeks, had convinced him otherwise with assurances, kisses to the back of his neck and a hand slipped into his, _We don't have to stay the whole time. It'll mean a lot to Seokjin, you know he misses us._

So here they were, in the truck in the dark with the moon coming in and Yoongi singing Motion City Soundtrack just barely loud enough for Namjoon to hear, _so lets not get carried away with the process of elimination... I don't want to waste your time._

Yoongi hated singing in front of people. Rap, he could do: he could rap Jay-Z and Missy Elliot and Run DMC but the second someone turned on a song he had to sing he backed out, ashamed of the hoarse rasp in his throat that would never go away, the result of some childhood trauma he'd never spoken to Namjoon about. He hated singing in front of people but Namjoon caught him singing at home, Owl City and Panic! At the Disco as he did the dishes or switched the laundry. He sounded beautiful, soft and rough though it was. Yoongi used music to speak when he couldn't make himself: the lyrics to  _My Heart is a House_ written in marker on the mirror when they didn't see one another for a few days due to scheduling conflicts, Nine Inch Nails scrawled on pieces of paper leading to the bedroom where Namjoon would find him nude and wanting.

Namjoon hadn't expected Yoongi to ever say anything to him about how he felt. They'd danced around one another all through Yoongi's Junior year, fucked around and promised _no string attached_ but Namjoon, Namjoon had strings and they were holding him to Yoongi, despite the girls that confessed to him, the boys who came on to him drunk at parties held at cabins and beaches. But that summer before Yoongi's Senior year the two of them were out at the pond, alone after Seokjin and Taehyung had gone home and Yoongi had handed him an envelope. _I gotta go home,_ he'd said. _But that's for you._

He'd never forget opening that envelope to find the folded paper inside, a simple lyric that made his heart leap into his throat as he held it: _The truth is you could slit my throat and with my one last gasping breath I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt._

Yoongi hated saying I love you. He hated admitting that he felt things, Namjoon knew that, so the words weren't just a really... really intense _I love you_ they were Yoongi opening himself up just enough to let Namjoon know that there were strings for him, too.

Two days later the two of them had sex in Namjoon's room, in the attic of his house, slow and hot in the bright afternoon sun with the door locked and the window open to let in the air and the scent of the trees. Yoongi had pressed his hand to Namjoon's chest and Namjoon felt it shaking as he folded down his middle and ring finger, _I love you,_ in words he didn't have to speak out loud.

_I love you too,_ Namjoon had breathed, and when Yoongi finished, when his small hands had clenched Namjoon's waist and his hips had stopped stuttering, Namjoon turned him onto his back and pinned him down, pinned him in, and while Yoongi hated the phrase, claimed it was cheesy and overused, Namjoon made love with him, and he wouldn't accept it being called anything else. They made love to the sound of Plain White T's albums and it was still those albums Yoongi sang when he thought Namjoon couldn't hear him, when he worked out in the garage or down in the basement.

The words brought Namjoon back to the present and to the sound, one of those songs playing and Yoongi's rough voice, _now that it's out on the table, both of us knew all along, I've got your loving and you've got..._

“My song...”

Namjoon reached across the space between them on the hard bench seat, slipped his fingers into Yoongi's and ignored how he tensed up, instead humming along with the break just over his breath until Yoongi smiled and went on, sang with him in the dark.

_I don't know how to make lots of money, I don't know all the right things to do, I can't say where we'll go, but the one thing I know, is how to be a good man to you, until I die, that's what I'll do, I will write you a song, that's how you'll know that my love is still strong, I will write you a song and you'll know from the song that I just can't go on without you._

“Didn't know you were awake,” Yoongi said as the music wound down and into the next track. Namjoon smiled, leaning across the bench to rest his head on Yoongi's skinny thigh.

“Wasn't,” he replied. “Heard you singin'. Thought I oughta tell you what a fuckin' sap you are.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi said, with no bite whatsoever as his hand slipped into Namjoon's hair and stroked. “Think we're almost to the hotel. Gonna be all right for another twenty minutes, brat?”

“S'long as you're not gonna cheeseball out on me.”

“Driver picks the music, Namjoon. You get the radio tomorrow, remember.”

“Mm,” Namjoon turned his head so his nose was against Yoongi's jacket. He smelled like clove cigarettes and febreeze and the detergent Namjoon bought. “I dunno. I kind of like the track list.”

 


End file.
